


Tavros: melt.

by Laylah



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Exhibitionism, M/M, Prosthetics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:50:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the gloves and his quiet focus it's even more like you're in a medicarver drama, and somehow that makes you feel fussed over and special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tavros: melt.

**Author's Note:**

> my first step toward bingo this year; squares filled for this piece are "medical kink" and my free space, which I'm using for "exhibitionism/exposure."

You have an appointment tonight to get your legs replaced. You've been growing like crazy for the last couple of perigees, and now that you've had your molt it means you should slow down again. So you can go over to Equius's workshop and he can replace your current set of robo-legs with the new pair he's been building for you.

First, though, you should probably exercise some self-control and maybe spend some time in the ablution trap with the water cranked all the way to cold.

You're not entirely comfortable with your own body when—well, a lot of the time, actually, but especially when it gets weird ideas about what feels good. And when you went to visit Equius so he could take your measurements, it decided that felt really, really good. He just...his hands were so gentle, and he was so careful with your scars and the sensitive connections and, and everything. And you tried reminding yourself that he was just doing a job, that this was like a visit to the medicarver (of course with blood as low as yours you've never been to a medicarver, but you've seen them in movies), but that didn't help. You spent the entire visit trying to convince your bone bulge to stop, well, _bulging_ , and terrified that he'd notice and get offended. And then probably kill you.

And that was just from getting your _measurements_ done. There's going to be so much more touching tonight. You wonder if you could just...have your legs refitted while you're sitting under the cold water in _his_ ablution trap. Only wait, that would mean you'd be naked and he'd be right there and—no. No that would be the opposite of helping.

By the time you manage to wobble-creak your way over to his workshop, you are pretty much a wreck.

"Nitram," he says when he opens the door. "You are punctual."

"Well," you say, "I wouldn't, um, want to keep you waiting."

Equius nods like of course you wouldn't, and steps back so you can get through the door. Your horns still fit the doorway but barely—by the time you finish your next growth spurt you're pretty sure they won't anymore. You're all outgrowing the things that fit you when you were wigglers.

For you, that means not just your hive but also your legs. You keep your hands held out for balance as you make your way over to Equius's work table, and he makes frowny eyebrows at you but you don't think he's actually mad. It looks more like his working-on-stuff face.

"Go ahead," he says, and you feel your cheeks getting hot as you take your shorts off. He's not even looking at you. He's messing with instruments on the table and—and not looking at you _really hard_ , because, well. Probably this is super embarrassing for him.

It ought to be embarrassing for you! Or, well, it _is_ , but your bulge doesn't seem to care. Equius ties back his hair and pulls on a pair of rubber gloves and then you're thinking about medicarvers again and you have to drape your shorts over your lap and hope that isn't too obvious.

It probably is, though, because his voice is doing that extra-fussy thing when he says, "Are you ready to begin?"

You nod, because you really don't want to try to talk. He leans over you, reaching out really, really carefully to wrap his hands around the upper rim of your left leg and press all the release buttons at once. You watch, and there's that dizzy, queasy moment of disorientation when he lifts it away and _you have no leg_ , it just stops about a hand's breadth down your thigh. You know that's true all the time but usually you can ignore it because the robo-legs are there so it looks like a normal amount of leg and seeing where you just _stop_ is, is weird. You don't look away.

Equius puts your old leg down out of the way and comes back to take off the second one. You still don't look away. With the gloves and his quiet focus it's even more like you're in a medicarver drama, and somehow that makes you feel fussed over and special. You're still way too conscious of your bulge, even with the queasy weirdness of seeing your legs missing.

"There may be some discomfort during this step," Equius says. "I need to adjust your connections to suit your growth. Tell me if the pain becomes unbearable."

You nod again and then realize he's not looking at your face. "Okay," you say, and tell yourself very sternly that it doesn't mean anything for him to be staring at your leg-ends. That _of course_ he's staring at them, he's working on them. On you. You feel so squirmy and fidgety and really, really aware of your skin.

He's right, it is a little uncomfortable when he starts messing with your connections. It doesn't really hurt, though. It's kind of tender when his fingers touch your actual skin, and you're not sure how much that's because you're just sensitive and how much is because of his strength. You watch his hands and think about how much you want to put one of your hands in your lap and then wish you weren't thinking about that.

"You're trembling," Equius says. "Are you in pain?"

"N-no," you say. "It feels, um, a little sensitive, but, I am not hurting." Your voice cracks and he looks up at you and you blush so hard it feels like your face is going to just melt off.

"Nitram?" Equius says, really quietly. "I need you to tell me if something is wrong."

He's still looking at you and still touching you, and you want to squirm and you want to die and you want him to keep doing those things. "I-I'm okay," you say and you're burning up to the tips of your ears. You shouldn't add anything else but you apparently can't make yourself shut up. "I keep thinking, it is like, you are my medicarver, and doing all these things, for me, when that is, really inappropriate, and clearly, I should be thinking about, not that, anything but that, and, sorry," which is when you finally manage to get your mouth to stop betraying you.

Equius's cheeks are a lot more blue than they were when you started talking. He takes a breath that sounds kind of shaky and says, "You will need to get control of yourself before I can complete the attachments. Please, try to relax."

You burst out in really, really awkward laughter. "I've been, trying," you say. "Since, before I got here, and I just, keep, um." You gesture vaguely and realize too late that it looks like you're indicating your lap, which. Oh dear.

Equius pulls your shorts out of the way.

Your first instinct is to draw your legs up and hide only you _can't_ , because you don't have any legs right now. And Equius's other hand is still resting on one of the stumps and he's not trying to hold you down or anything but the thing is he doesn't have to try. So you're just. There. And he can see. And he's—

"Goodness," he says. He's staring. You can't decide whether you want to melt right through the table or whether you want to just come right this second. "And you can't—that is, even with the discomfort—"

"No, um, it," you say, and your bulge stirs because Equius is _staring_ , oh, "that doesn't, seem to matter?"

Equius fumbles a towel out of his sylladex and wipes his face, but you don't think he's looked away at all. He's staring at you—at your bulge, tenting out the fabric of your underwear—and he's not killing you and you don't know why you like this so much but you _do_.

"I...would prefer not to continue this operation when you are so...tense," Equius says. "Perhaps you could attend to your...problem," and he has to wipe his face again, "and then I could attach the new prosthetics afterward, when you are more relaxed?"

Now _you're_ staring, because you can't believe he actually suggested that, and your bulge is so stiff it aches. "O-okay," you say, and he starts to get up, like he's going to leave you to it. "Wait."

He stops. "Is something wrong?"

You squirm and you have to squeeze your eyes shut to make the words come out. "W-will you, um, stay?"

"Stay," Equius repeats, like he can't believe you just said that. You sort of can't believe it yourself. "You want me to...?"

You chew on your lip and try to ignore the way your bloodpusher is trying to batter its way out of your thorax and make yourself say the words. "Stay here and, and look at me."

"Oh," he says. For a second all you can hear is blood roaring in your aural canals. Then Equius touches your thigh again, careful, gentle as he can. "Continue."

You squirm, pushing your underwear down, and Equius helps, oh. He pulls them off you and comes around to the end of the table and nudges your thighs apart. He still has the gloves on. He's looking at you, your bulge, your globes, your nook, and you can't tell if the way you're shaking is because you're so embarrassed or because you're so turned on.

"I'm watching," he says. "Do it."

You're trembling as you wrap a hand around your bulge, and when you stroke it the first time Equius makes a sound like you're doing it to _him_. That feels amazing. You're touching yourself the same way you always do but now—now you're laid out for someone else to see, for someone else to watch you, and that gives you butterflies in your gastric sac but in the exciting way. You brace your other hand behind yourself and push your hips up, thrusting into your own grip and overwhelmed by how much more intense it feels. Your globes feel taut and heavy, your bulge almost too sensitive in your hand.

"Do you—do you require a bucket?" Equius asks, and he sounds almost as ruined as you feel.

"N-no," you say, and your cheeks burn as you tell him, "I just did, last night," and admitting it makes you feel like he's seeing _that_ after the fact, the bucket under you and your nook gushing wet and—oh, now you can imagine him there for it, spreading your thighs to position the bucket, touching you with his cool gloved hands and watching you to make sure you can do it without needing help.

You don't need any help at all right now, not even a little bit, not when you feel like this—shivery and tight all over and melting hot and there there _oh_ , and you do spill a little bit of genetic material even though you just filled your pail last night, and a tiny part of you wants to die but most of you feels so good you can't even be sorry.

When you manage to open your eyes, Equius is still watching you. He's clutching a towel that is almost completely soaked through and his shirt is damp. "I hope you are...feeling better," he says.

"Haha, yeah," you say, hunching your shoulders sheepishly. "Thank you for, being so nice about it." You look down from his face a little, er, lower, and he coughs and shifts his weight awkwardly.

"I am afraid I may need a few moments to recover my composure," he says.

"Oh," you say. "Um. Well. Uh, you were really nice, about me having, a problem to take care of, so, maybe I could, return the favor?"

His eyebrows raise. "You are suggesting that I—that I relieve myself before we continue."

"And that, I could help, if that is, a thing you would like?" you say. If he didn't get furious for any of the other parts, you're pretty sure he won't be too offended by that suggestion.

"That would be exceedingly inappropriate," he says. He chews his lip and you wait for him to keep going. "But...acceptable."

You grin. "Okay," you say. "So, what would, you like?"


End file.
